Interludes
by Iellix
Summary: A series of loosely connected short ficlets featuring Connor and Abby. In the bedroom.
1. Weird

I have a bunch of short ficlets—varying bedroom scenes—and nowhere to use them. So they become very short one-shots. I'll publish them here when the mood strikes.

Disclaimer: I don't own Primeval, or any of the characters or themes therein.

o…o

It's weird between them.

The first time they have sex is in the Cretaceous, which is patently a bad idea and if Abby had been herself she'd've weighed the perks of fucking Connor against the likely odds that she could get pregnant eighty million years in the past—considering she's still young enough to be dangerously fertile—and come to the conclusion that it was a really, really stupid idea. But they're scared and alone, and being close is a comfort and feels safe.

And then they come back and slowly re-acclimate to their own world and things go to business-as-usual with them, meaning Connor sleeps in his loft and she sleeps in her own bed and the sexual tension goes back to being thick as pea soup.

One night Abby catches him on his way up the stairs and drags him into her room and shoves him into her bed and he actually rips his t-shirt in his struggle to get his clothes off all at the same time. They spend the night together but the next night he goes up to his own room and they spend the night in their own separate beds.

It follows a pattern after that: for the most part their lives continue on as they always have, except when the tension between them gets a little too tense they have at it on any horizontal surface that's closest. Sofa, tables, countertops. The _floor,_ even. But at night they retire to their separate corners and their separate beds, alone. There are some nights they spend together, but those are infrequent and in between they go for weeks without sleeping in the same bed.

It's Connor's turn to wake up with the animals and let Abby have a lie-in today. They have a new addition to their menagerie—a dawn horse, the earliest known horse ancestor, that they call Seabiscuit (or Biscuit or sometimes just Bikkie, because it's not like he or any of their other pets answer to their names) and that needs to be taken outside to stretch his legs. Since he looks mammalian they walk him about on a harness and tell people he's a rare Asian deer they're fostering for a zoo.

He accidentally wakes her up stumbling blindly into her bedroom in the dark—he hasn't turned the light on so as not to wake her—when he comes into her room looking for his boots, since it's raining and he has to take Seabiscuit for a walk. She can't go back to sleep after he leaves so she goes into the kitchen for breakfast. Partway through the comics section of the newspaper she hears him come back and hears the clickity-clack of Biscuit feet on the floor.

"Shush, you—you'll wake Abby up," he warns in a low tone.

"I'm already up," she calls from the kitchen.

He sticks his head in. "Oh. Sorry. It was supposed to be your day to sleep late, wasn't it?"

She shrugs.

"I left my boots last time I spent the night. Haven't needed 'em." He looks piteous and apologetic and his hair is dripping down his face from the rain. "I'll make sure I take all my stuff with me from now on."

"Or you could just sleep in my room from now on." She folds the paper and looks up in time to see his mouth fall open. "Saves us the trouble, doesn't it?"

He nods dumbly.

"And anyway, I like sleeping with you—you're warm."

Things are still a little weird for them. They don't know how to operate as a couple and have spent the last three years carefully dancing around the matter. It's a learning curve for both of them but they don't really mind. It isn't _bad-_weird, it's just _different._

But everything in their life is weird. Why should this be any different?

And really—neither of them would have life any other way.


	2. Surviving the Night

A typical morning with Abby and Connor.

o…o

Abby has always been an early riser, so it's not surprising that even after spending the night rolling in the sheets with Connor, she's still the first one up. She untangles her arms and legs from his and slips out of bed. Sweatpants come on—she's not sure if they're his sweatpants or hers until she puts them on and they turn out to be his, big and baggy and too long—and she lumbers into the kitchen for a cup of tea.

She makes Connor his tea, as well, because she knows he'll be a beast before he gets a little caffeine in him. She scoops Sid and Nancy off the kitchen table several times so she can eat in relative peace—they've figured out how to climb from the ground to the chairs to the tabletop and use that position to fix the humans with Power Begs whenever they have food—but after the third time they've climbed up she just gives in to their wagging tails and enormous eyes and lets them have what's left of her toast. She knows she's a total pushover and only hopes Connor doesn't learn how to manipulate her like their pets do.

There's a lot of thumping and banging and Abby knows that means he's awake. He stumbles to the kitchen doorway in his underwear and bathrobe and his hat—always his hat—all bleary eyes and bed hair. He clutches the doorframe melodramatically.

"I made it through the night!"

"Yes, we can all see that."

He rubs his eyes and cracks his back. She winces; that sound makes her skin crawl. "I feel like I spent the night in a tumble dryer."

"Gee, thanks."

"Seriously, Abby, you should try being on the other side of your nocturnal flailings for once. It's like a kickboxing match in bed with you."

"Oh stop this filthy talk, you sex-fiend, you," she says in a mockingly sultry voice. "You're just being a sissy. I haven't broken anything on you—you just don't have my pain-tolerance."

"I don't have your adamantium elbows!"

She knows this is likely a reference to some fictional scientific or technological something-or-other that she isn't going to get. "My _what?"_

"Adamantium. It's… oh, never mind." He shakes his head and waves his hand dismissively and picks up the other mug. "You still beat me up in your sleep. If someone sees all these bruises they'll think you're an abusive girlfriend." Then he frowns at the _Diictodons_ on the table happily licking peanut butter and crumbs off of her plate. "They shouldn't be up there, you know. They'll just learn bad habits."

"Are you done?" She asks. "Anything else you want to complain about this morning?"

"Let's see—nearly died during the night, hitting me in your sleep, _Diictodons_ on the table," he ticks them off on his fingers like he has a list going in his head. "No, I think that about covers it unless you wanna talk about your snoring again."

"Okay then." She stands up close to him and knocks his hat back with a flick of her fingers. She brings the hand down and rests it on his stubbly cheek. "Good morning."

"Morning."

He leans down and kisses her softly. He has morning breath and she has peanut-butter breath and they both smell like sleep and sex but for them it's kind of perfect.


	3. Flowered

A woman I knew very briefly some years ago claimed to have this same 'hobby'. I've no idea whether it's true or not, but I thought it was a great line and decided to use it here. Obviously these ficlets have no real chronology; this one takes place after the First Time (TM). You can pick your own timeframe within the series.

o…o

He's got his arms wrapped around her and his lips tickle a line up her stomach. Abby strokes his sweaty hair and he looks up at her, big brown eyes tired, and smiles. He arches up to plant a kiss between her breasts, then settles back down and rests his cheek on her like a pillow. They're both sweaty, tired—sated. Her body is still humming in quiet pleasure. Connor surprised her tonight—once his nerves wore off he explored her body quite thoroughly with his hands and his mouth, getting bolder with every cry she voiced.

"I love you," she murmurs.

"Love you, too, Abbs," he says, kissing the warm skin of her stomach again.

She sighs contentedly, then giggles when he tickles her. "Good first time, hm?" She purrs, still stroking his hair. He looks up sharply and frowns.

"What makes you think it was my first time?" He asks, his eyes narrow.

She raises her eyebrows and bites back a giggle at his indignation. "Well you weren't fumbling and clueless and you didn't go off the second I got my bra off, but…" she pauses to trace her finger over the reddening curve of his ear. She frowns. "What's the matter? You _were_ a virgin, weren't you?"

He doesn't answer right away.

"Connor?"

His face is red with embarrassment. "Well… yes, I was," he says finally. He bites her and sucks on her pale skin, leaving a red mark. "I just resent the implication that I _must've_ been."

He's grinning and she knows that means he's not cross, and neither is she—she can't be, not with him looking up at her with those big eyes and the crooked smile with that devastating little dimple. She laughs so hard it shakes them both.

"I could tell—that was my hobby at university," she tells him.

"Oh?" He rolls off of her and onto his side, holding his head up with his arm. His other hand strokes slowly up and down her side when she turns to face him. "What was?"

"Deflowering nerds."

Now he laughs _really_ hard, flopping onto his back and covering his face with his hands. The whole bed rattles and he loses his breath.

"I've had more virgins than a pagan sacrificial rite."

When he has his breath back, Connor rolls over and pins her wrists over her head and kisses her. His mouth is hot and he still tastes like her and he's nowhere _near_ finished yet.

"Am I more than a hobby to you?" He asks, breath hot in her ear. She knows he knows what her answer is but he wants to hear her say it.

"An obsession," she says.


End file.
